Loathsome Consideration
by starrynightly
Summary: It was then I realized how desirable we had became to each other, but how collectively hateful we were. It use to be "No one was to kill Izaya except for me, and no one was supposed to kill me, Heiwajima Shizuo, except for him." Full Summary Inside.
1. Streets

**Loathsome Consideration**

**Summary: **It was then I realized how desirable we had became to each other, but how collectively hateful we were. It use to be "No one was to kill Izaya except for me, and no one was supposed to kill me, Heiwajima Shizuo, except for him." It was an rule everyone had followed since the day Izaya and I had first met.

But since our mutual, near-unspoken agreement near Shinjuku, it became "No one was to touch Izaya except for me, and no one was supposed to touch me, Heiwajima Shizuo, except for him," or, "No one was to make Izaya scream in ecstasy except for me, and no one was supposed to pleasure me, Heiwajima Shizuo, except for him." However, this rule was meant for the bedroom only and away from prying eyes. No real love was produced, only more bitter, messy, addicting hate.

It took a long while before all of this changed to a more... physical arrangement, though. Well, you asked for a story, and I guess I'll just have to take a shot narrating it for you.

= = =  
><strong>Shizuo's POV<strong>

The skies were rather clear today, a nice value and shade of blue reigning over Ikebukuro, and the streets buzzed with busy life noisily. Cars were slowing down, some to halts, due to today's average work day - normally accompanied with angry drivers and traffic. Speaking of that, men and women hustled through the sidewalks. Ladies browsed the shop windows with awe and smiles, while only few others were left with their lovers. The men were merely blending in with society, the stores, and abstract women, while other men hoarded within gangs and unparalleled friends. The Yellow Scared were one of these gangs, easy to target. If you were to look for the Dollars on this particularly fine day, you would find none; the Dollars blended in perfectly, not that anyone knew who they were. The males of the Yellow Scarves are brawny, violent people, while I, Heiwajima Shizuo, hate violence. But even I must admit I am somewhat a hypocrite, one of my reason being that my job supplies quite of bit of violence.

Especially when you just piss me the hell off, but that's another story all together.

I stationed near my employer, Tom Tanaka, as he calmly negotiated to a client in debt, whom I dragged off to an empty, remote area of the sidewalks. The client was a pudgy man who wore a brown suit, had brunette, bowl-cut hair, and blue eyes. Not the most attractive person in Ikebukuro ever, but he was seemed decent, yet donned a slightly devious, shady look about him. The client could not keep up with Tom's demands to return his money. Those types of clients annoy me. The kind which creates a deal and refuses (or is not able) to repay their end of the bargain. The client was tremulous, with dialated eyes that gave me wary glances, stuttering often as he spoke to Tom. The client's voice annoys me, along with the shifty body language that took over his neatly dressed attire down to his mud-stained boots. I think it was time for another cigarette.

And as soon as I placed the cigarette betweem my lips and reached for my lighter, I thought I heard someone walk closer, but no one was around this secluded area. Shrugging, I lit the cigarette and immediately the taste of nicotine washed over to calm me. Taking a deep drag, I let the smoke enter my lungs, then exhaled. With mild fascination I examined the smoke twirl and dance through the air above me, then simply fade away . . . just like that. I forgot about Tom and the irresponsible client.

I took another inhale of the cigarette, eyes closed to help me further relax, but to my chargrin, no smoke met my tongue. What the hell . . . ? With a deep frown I swiped the cigarette out of my mouth and latched it between my two fingers. The but was cut clean off, yet unevenly. I could feel the raw anger fill my being once again, and I was unaware of the client screaming from fear that a knife had lodged into the cement ground only centimeters from his foot. Tom even jerked back, eyes wide and mouth agape, but I am sure he was unsurprised by it. Only one person could have done something like that. I jerked my head to the voice of the man I hated the most, to the point of which no one's could ever hope to rival - Orihara Izaya.

"Shizu-chan!" he cried in mock joy. "Fancy meeting you here! I am sorry for missing your face, but," his most irritating smile turned into his most irritating smirk, "my fingers slipped."

"Bullshit, flea, you cut my cigarette up just to piss me off." I immediately claimed out of pure aggravation. I glared knives into Izaya. I could feel my eyebrow twitching.

Izaya rolled his eyes, fumbling with the fur-trim on his stupid jacket. "Oh well. I must simply speak to mister Tsukiwa Hejo, who is currently cowering on the ground from your monstrous habits. Because, really, smoking? Oh, right! Haven't you tried to stop five times, before?"

"Six," I lied, I could feel my teeth grind against each other in a most painful way. It has only actually been five times, but this fucking louse will get no satisfaction from me. It was the few milliseconds of flittering confusion on Izaya's face that I took immeasurable pleasure in, but extreme agitation returned as he spoke once more.

"There's no point in lying to me, Shizu-chan! I already know everything about you. I know everything about everything!" he stated this with a tone akin to stating the obvious to an infant as he gestured carelessly, lazily, over to all of Ikebukuro. Where the hell is a stop sign when you need one?

"Right, and you know the solution to end world hunger," I scoffed, sneering at him. "What do you want anyway, flea? When you're around, you're causing trouble. How many times to I have to tell you stay the hell away from Ikebukuro-and me?"

The louse's bottom lip jutted out in a (fake) pout, "But I've already told you! Don't you know how to listen properly, you brute? How rude. All I want to do is have a nice chat with Hejo-san, then I'll be on my way back to Shinjuku with all of the information I need!"

I pushed my sunglasses higher onto the bridge of my nose. This guy . . . what could he want with Hejo? The client looked nothing of any interesting value, so what could drive Izaya to purpose of travelling from Shinjuku to Ikebukuro, then to return soon right after? None of it made any sense to me, or to Tom, whom was still attempting to calm the client down but making no attempt to leave. The unanswered questions filled my mind with a burning rage.

"Aww, is the protozoan jealous of Hejo-san being the center of my thoughts? If it's still any consolation, you're still my favorite plaything," he grins, swaying from side to side as he looks about ready to scat. I glare him and I noticed something felt wet in the palms of my hands. I glanced down briefly to observe that my nails had dug in to leave small cresents of blood. I was not some plaything to be cast aside! Ugh, nor was I one to begin with.

That flea . . . is pissing me the fuck off! I started after him, ignoring Tom's complaints and the client's gasping cries. I saw the louse give a smirk which burned into my brain with a passionate fire and soaked into my limbs and muscles, and he turned the opposite direction into the streets.


	2. Shopping Center Shenanigans

**Loathsome Consideration**

**Shizuo's POV**

I was on the flea's trail, but seriously, how could that freakin' eskimo run so quickly? Regardless, I refuse to lose to that infuriating little tick today. That flea is mine. I chased him through the endless sea of normal people, making sure to keep an eye on his conspicuous fur-trimmed jacket. I bumped and shoved numerous people as the flea gracefully tip-toed out of everyone's way in happy twirls, however, my pace did not slow down. I was on a damn hunt-and-kill-flea hype fuelled by bloodlust.

With burning ire, I saw him run into a . . . building? That was a new prospect of our macabre game of cat 'n mouse, which was an aspect that never had anything new mixed into it. Normally it was at the park in Ikebukuro, or an anonymous alleyway. And along with the natural, chaotic order of things, he jeers at me derisively first, then I try to squash him like the louse he is, or I came after him to deliver a satisfying punch. Or chuck a vending machine at his head, which ever one hit him first. But anyway, the building was a large shopping center where various store windows displayed female mannequins donned in top designer merchandise. In all reality, the clothes appear to be a colorful mass of iridescent puke with strategically placed frills. Women actually like this kind of stuff?

Narrowly dodging a few more people, I jogged inside the shop, determined to find the damn flea. It finally registered to me how distracting the overwhelming explosion of colors in this center were. I frantically peered around all the angles I could see in this area. The halls of the stores split into a V-shape by up and down escalators that rose up to the next level of the center, and the entire place, it seems, was engulfed by the minty, "new clothes" smell. From the entrance of this center, where I stood, I could easily see aisles organized from "Men's Shirts" to "Kids' Shoes." Hell, I was already lost and I had not even taken my seventh step in the place.

Then, once again, it registers in mind how I _already lost Izaya_ in what seems to be the largest fucking mall in Ikebukuro! For the love of all that is holy, that bastard could be _anywhere _if hadn't escaped already! Might as well begin, I scorned myself before starting a quick rush to the women's section. The flea pretended he was a woman sometimes, right? Whatever. As I began towards the right of the mall, I told my body to stay on the aisle, not to browse and explore the large expanse of lingerie . . . unconveniantly being the first thing that caught my eye, with all of its . . . frills and laces. Now this was just ridiculous.

It had been a whole hour since I have been here, and without a sign of the flea. If anything, he probably had escaped the center by now. He wasn't in the food courts, the quick-stop cafes, the clothing appartments, the bathrooms (of which I humbly left the woman's bathroom alone), game/manga mini-stores, and just about everywhere else. The only area I probably had not check was the dressing rooms, and well, the flea could not be that stupid. Heh, the thought of Izaya shopping for clothes as he runs and hides away from me was considerably amusing.

. . .

At this thought it caused a new emotion to overtake me; my blood boiled in rage. To think that fucking louse was arrogant enough to get something retarded-like, like a blouse, or something-as he laughs at me behind my unsuspecting back sent me into a blind fury. Unconsciously, my hurried tread doubled to storming straight for the dress rooms, and I ripped a nearby men's shirt off the rack, caring not at all how I heard a distinct clank and several thumps collide against the ground, so I could appear unsuspicious as I continue the flea hunt. There was an ornery salesman who snarlled in protest, but it soon turned to terror as he realized who I was. I am positive he ran away as fast as his skinny legs could, but I was far too engrossed in the wonderful images of killing the flea to care much.

When I had arrived to the dress rooms, I forced myself to calm down, taking a moment to relax my muscle and let the oxygen fill my lungs and to let the blood run through my veins . . . Okay, here we go. As I trudged inside I silenced my steps, my ears becoming more acute and soon I heard the faint sound of a zipper being done. My heart pounded in my ears with barely contained excitement that voiced its presents by the soft melody of hushed breaths. I dared not to labor my breathing for the fear of the flea randomly popping up to stab my back. I treaded ever so quietly, and tension was thick in the minty air with only the sharp sound of a zipper cutting through.

I halted completely in front of the door, contemplating how to go about this. I simply knocked on the door where a hollow sound resonated in the room. The zipper stopped, then a chirpy voice pierced its way through the atmosphere, "Ah, Stranger-san! This one is occupied!"

Found him . . . !

With maddening force I shot my hand out to the top of the door and ripped it clean off of its hinges, discarding it to the side. I glare at the startled flea before I notice he wore a trench coat that made his body appear somewhat more slender, even though it was unzipped. Generally speaking, it was the same style of his fur-trimmed jacket, but with slightly bigger pockets and fashionably placed brown buttons on the front. It even had the same color scheme. But the original jacket draped lazily over a cushioned bench, and within the right light I could faintly see the glimmer of the flea's flickblade. I grin. The flea was somewhat frozen in shock and the trench coat held loosely onto him, exposing his shoulders. I thank whatever god there was that Izaya was still fully dressed.

Out of nervousness, Izaya spoke with a feral grin yet with an unstable voice. "Oh . . . you found me, Sh-Shizu-chan! I thought you had given up for the day!" I narrowed my eyes at him, and he leaned back from me to grab his means of defense but I grasped the front of his shirt before he could attempt to grab the knife. " . . . Never thought you'd be so forward either." He was trying to use that manipulative, flirty tone with me like he always does to throw me off, but it won't work this time. I hauled him out of the dressing room and down the aisle, and in vain the flea attempted to run away from his currently-doomed existence. And as soon we arrived to the exit, I shredded the trench coat off his lithe body and the smaller man roared in protest, but I disregarded that and threw it away.

I dragged the flea down the sidewalk to a randomly chosen alleyway, ignoring the awkward stares of the people around us. The flea's fate was set.


	3. Shocking Words

**Shizuo's POV **

The flea was struggling in my tight grasp as I shoved him into the dingy, damp alleyway after I checked if it had a dead end. My grip was still firm on his black shirt where he hoplessly tried to peel my fingers off, complaining about being choked by such a miserable brute. It actually sounded very tempting-controlling his breath, I mean. He would beg for me to relinquish my unforgiving hold on him, to quell the fire burning in his oxygen-starved lungs. 'He was vulnerable and defenseless without his knives, but his poisonously sweet words were sharper, piercing, and dangerous to one's mind,' I warned myself this subconsciously as I almost charged into the wall. I took delight in his pained hiss when his head banged against the cement wall, his ruddy brown eyes set in a daze.

I had to admit I felt somewhat power-high as I kept jostling his body against the rough wall over and over again, hungrily wanting him to voice his pain in loud screams, groans, growls, whatever, instead of hearing sharply keen hisses. It may had been the darkness cast by the overshadowing buildings that fooling my eyes, but I could have sworn a tiny trickle of metallic blood ran down his temple. He gasped and clung onto my hands, and I simply grinned which turned dark. I said something, something I never thought I would had ever said to the flea aloud, "I am no monster, Izaya! I am a human being with feelings, but you have no idea what the hell I feel!"

I ignored the obvious shocked look on his face that he barely tried to hide and I continued, "And that fucking scares you, doesn't it?-when you can't manipulate anyone you want to play in your mischievous deck of cards. You treat them like an aff toy without second thought or regret, disregarding the fact they were kind, or, or honest!" At this point I did not know what I was doing anymore, and I was fine with the rage that consumed my body and took horrible shape in Izaya. I repeatively shoved him harder against the cruel, cold wall. The louse gritted his teeth in pain and he leaned his head forward slightly to avoid collision with the wall, but his head still suffered greatly.

I screamed and hissed ill profanities at him, I punched him harshly, mercilessly, about everywhere on his smaller body, and I berated him calmly with language I would had felt guilty about if I were in my right mind. I watched as my comments soaked into him, marring him, scarring him. He listened to every word I said with widened eyes, but he did not appear to be fearful-only stubbornly amused. And that pissed me off.

The flea gave me a broken smile with his chapped lips, and stared at me right in the eye with difficulty-both of his eyes were blackened. He had bruises I could view only on his face, and cuts where blood seemed to seep from in a way that made it seem as if all of time slowed down. I snarled. His smile was disgusting. As I was about deliver another punch to his beaten body, he cut me off with a surprisingly soft voice, "Y-you say you're not a monster, right? Right, Shizu-chan? Look at what you are doing to me! You say you hate violence, yet you are the living embodiment of all things violent, you monster. . ." He curled his lips into a smirk and spat blood onto my cheek, giving me a look that I'm sure could kill if he wanted to.

I froze. I halted my assult on the flea, as if his comment paralysed me, and it did. What Izaya said struck the off button within my nervous system. And I don't know when I let go of the lithe form quivering below me and backed off, nor when Izaya slid to the ground in a soft pant for air, and definitely not when I began to stare at that bloody, round mark on the wall made by Izaya's bleeding head. My lingering gaze darted to my hands. Why did I have to be this kind of awful creature with my only power causing destruction and violence? Why was this curse placed upon me, and why was I built differently from normal people? Why did Izaya have infuriate me to the point of beating him within the inch of his life?

My breath hitched in my throat, creating a low guttural gasp as Izaya shakily ascended to his feet and took a step forward. I hardened myself in defense, my jaw becoming tighter by my eyes did not hold the same contempt I had for the man. Izaya took another step forward. And then another. He soon developed his natural rhythm of walking again, yet he was limping badly. He came closer and my eyes tightened close. Izaya was going to attempt to hit me back-I just knew it and I accepted it.

The revenge hit never came as Izaya stood by me, then passed me, and he kept walking away. He was on the borderline edge of the beginning of the alleyway before he tilted his head back and made a rather large comment, "Shizu-chan does not like violence, does he?" Only silence emitted from me. "I suppose so. Shizu-chan hates violence, yet he always gets angry in such abominable ways that its monstrous and like a stupid animal you could be as dumb as rock yet very sharp when you need to be. So unpredictable. It is why I could not love you. I _hate_ you, Shizu-chan."

My eyes widen in an almost comical fashion, my mouth agape and I struggled for words that seem lost upon my lips. "I-"

"I think I'll take a break for . . . awhile, away from you, Shizuo. Too heal and such, good day." Izaya stalked off waving a good bye at me as the sun caught the shine of his ring brightly, and leaving me alone in the dark alleyway.

**Hello everyone! I figured it would be good if I could attempt to connect with my wonderful readers by writing some author's notes! I hope everyone enjoys the story thus far and I look forward to reading your reviews. I wish to get some good, positive feedback but I also want some creative critism on my writing style, so it'd be much appreciated. **

**I hope I kept Shizuo and Izaya IC Do: Because sometimes I don't feel like I do! XD**

**Well, thank you for reading chapter 3 of Loathsome Consideration, and please review! :3**

**P.S. Did anyone feel FEEEELINGS at the end? (Just curious. XP)**


	4. Good Sushi, Bad Sushi

**Shizuo's POV**

I did not know how long I stood in that dirty alleyway engulfed in silence. If I had made the tiniest sound, it would not have fit in its place there, so for the best I stayed quiet. Izaya's strong remark settled permanently within my mind, and it made my blood run colder and colder with each thought, and my mood soon plummeted into a deep abyss. A very deep abyss. In fact, it was actually akin to a black hole-something very dark where no light could hope to shimmer and absolutely nothing could escape its overbearing grasp. It was not until late at night when I abandoned the alleyway to the long, reflecting walk home. But I was not ready to turn in for fear of the unnerving dreams Izaya will have caused. Mentioning home, I faintly wondered to myself if the smaller man even made it back to Shinjuku. My heart unwillingly clenched. Maybe, if this happened at best, Celty had found him and she took Izaya to the underground doctor. Shinra would fix Izaya and make sure he was healed properly. So he see through both eyes and have no scars marking him. Shit, I need a cigarette.

I checked my pocket for the carton of cancersticks, and to my ultimate displeasure when I opened it, I realized Izaya had sliced the very last one. My hand palmed against my face to surpress a solemn groan. I stood in the middle of the sidewalk with near-unnoticaeable flecks of blood on my bartender outfit, and the normal people around me certainly did not notice it. Or maybe it was a natural occurance to see Heiwajima Shizuo covered in blood? Dazed by the fluorescent lights of the bright buildings and streets, my feet carried me to who knows where, I did not particularly care nor do I care of returning to Tom's side for the night. Still, I kept thinking of Izaya. I tried not to, but it was hard-too hard. In honesty, I could not allow myself the thought that the emotion I felt was guilt, but some unnamed one. The clenching in my chest felt worse.

My shoes soon introduced me to the familiar place of Russia Sushi. As I stared at the double doors, I contemplated wheter or not if my stomach could handle the sushi after all that had happened in the alleyway. A growl eminated from my stomach, which itself decided it could bare the raw fish. Or . . . whatever was in that sushi.

Treading slowly into the restaurant, my nose was immediately overtaken by the scent of the interesting food and my eyes by the sight of the smiling Russian man, Simon.

"Oh hello, Shizuo! You come for Russian sushi, da? Good and cheap!" The large man greeted me happily without a care in the world, before his smile turned to a well-produced frown. "You have blood on you. You've been fighting more? Fighting is bad, very very bad."

I sighed loudly, avoiding his question by taking a seat at the sushi bar. Why had I come here again? I licked my lips to wet them, "Today's special, please, Simon."

I saw the man also sigh but he smiled and sucked it up before he went to work with his hands and knife with much skill and practice. I did not pay much attention to it, though. In a clear jar some odd inches away from me, merged chop sticks stuck upwards in suspension in the air. I glared half-heartedly at the chopsticks before I plucked one out and split them carefully in two. Just in time, Simon served me a plate of ootoro and a side dish of wasabi, soy sauce, and a tall glass of green tea.

Tentatively I began to eat, uncaring of the odd flavor of the fatty tuna and when Simon casually sat beside me, donning an uncharacteristicly blank face.

"You are upset even though you eat good sushi, comrade, and you have blood on your once clean suit. What is wrong?" Simon tip-toed to the question once more and I knew he would not cede to my annoyance this time.

"Nothing is w-"

He interrupted me, "Shizuo, one should not lie to man who takes care of the food."

. . .

Did he just threaten me?

I sighed with annoyance, running a hand through my dyed hair, "I envy you, Simon. You can control your strength, but I have can't even hold a knife without worrying about breaking it, or how you whenever you get angry, you can control yourself so you don't have to beat the living shit out of anyone." Angrily I took a long sip of the green tea that was earlier given to me, and I willed myself not to bash my own head onto the table.

"You fought with Izaya, da?" he asked out of the blue with a tone and aura that suggested he used inference to come to an undeniably correct conclusion. It was painfully obvious, yet, I was still surprised. I choked on the tea.

I coughed loudly, thumping my chest and shaking my head before panting lightly, "How'd ya figure?" I gruffed at the Russian man, coughing just occasionally.

"Izaya was injured. He looked bad. I gave him complementory fatty tuna. I don't think he could see well, with those black eyes; he grabbed my hand by mistake, not the sushi."

Fuck, Simon, please, make me feel even more horribly guilty.

And I will forever deny I thought that for the rest of my natural born life.

Regardlessly, a shot of electricity ran down my spine and with a miserable grunt, I questioned why Simon was interrogating me. Can't he tell I want to sulk alone in my own self pity? Well, I guess he doesn't feel like he wants to stop yet.

The Russian man continued, "You should say sorry. Even little bugs would like apologizes if someone steps on them."

I shot Simon a dirty look, but grudgingly it was quite false. "The louse got what was coming to him, Simon. Now stop chattering about him or piss off."

Simon frowned. "Fight is bad, and sushi is good! With all the sushi Izaya eats, he must have something good in his belly, da?" His frown turned into a that normal, characteristic grin, "All people here eat good sushi, so they feel and be good, too. And if one eats bad sushi, they get sick and feel bad. You fed bad sushi to Izaya so what could you see that may ever be good?"

The sushi man's small speech kind of stroked a soft spot on me and it was in a small amount of time before I realized I did not quite craved a cigarette anymore. I felt as if tasting a good wave of smoke would not help, but to confront the issue itself. My shoulders reposed. Maybe I _do_ need to apologize to Izaya-only if to settle this emotion we shall _not_ name as guilt. I shook my head with a lazy, toothy grin.

"I think you're getting off topic, Simon; you're rambling," I said with a steady, calm voice that did not pose any anger whatsoever. At this Simon scooted back on his stool, creating a loud and deep noise in the process, as he looped around to his station behind the bar.

"Maybe I am," Simon admitted, "but you know good Japanese. You know what I mean." He winked before gaping out a audible interjection, "Oh! I forget, ootoro is not today's special, by the way. Today's special is actually radish sushi."

** Hiii, if this were a daily regular update of which I followed a specific schedule, I'd say I'm sorry for being late! Thanks again for reading this chapter of Loathing Consideration, and I guess I've always wanna do this kind of thing where I respond to all of the reviews! :3**

**So,**

**Sheynx: Don't worry, Shizu-chan won't throw many vending machines at Izaya much anymore! :P Here is another update for you!**

**Miss Special Pants: This... This review is the nicest thing. You get all of the points and all of my love. All of it. Every single molecule and atom of it-why? Because that is the nicest thing! :3 Thank you lots! XOXO! And keeping them IC is pretty tough! XD**

**PsycheBunny: ... And so you have received another update! And thank you very much! I have been practicing writing descriptions, but I wasn't sure if I was doing well. :)**

**Sadly that's all of the reviews! D:**

**But thank you lots to those to who did review, and I shall see you all with Chapter 5 of Loathing Consideration and a Special Chapter told from Izaya's perspective after that!**

**Good bye, and don't forget to review! :3**


	5. An Unnoticed Motorcycle

**Shizuo's POV**

After I had finished the meal, I left Russia Sushi with a content stomach and with perplexed thoughts running through my mind. Simon, that tricky bastard! He fed me fatty tuna just to make me deposit more thought into Izaya! Normally, this would boil my blood further, but I could not find the energy or the heart to vent my anger in the form of a street sign.

I think fate is trying to screw me over - to even force me to consider apologizing to that bastard, and I wonder if it would be worth it in the end. It most likely won't. But maybe it will, said a positive voice within my mind. Although I still had a lot of doubt about it, I do not desire to surrender to Izaya so soon. Hell, the guy doesn't even want to see me . . . or that he really can't. Fuck.

Giving out a guttural sigh as I travelled through the streets with no real destination to arrive, I thought I should probably go home. Though I was unwilling to sleep, I could still brood in my apartment awake, right? It could give me a chance to collect my thoughts in a familiar environment - away from all of this bullshit. So, by default, I had a new area to venture to. However, I did have the time to appreciate my surroundings, like the advertisements hanging off many of the buildings, or how Ikebukuro's echanting lights were reflected by the moving, gleaming cars into the contrast of the night sky, along with the playful, chilly air. The people here crowded together to watch spectacular street performances and musicians playing their instruments on wooden benches with merry faces.

There were local convenient stores, too, and at last I could buy another carton of cigarettes. Ah, the thought makes me feel more at ease . . . until I once again thought of Izaya. Huh, I chases him down that same street with a vending machine two da - stop, Shizuo. But I couldn't stop. His words still played in my mind like an endless mantra:

"I hate you Shizu-chan."

The thing is that I don't even know why that statement irked me so awfully. Those were words we exchanged to each other on a near-daily basis - at least. Maybe it was the solemn, yet hinted with a taste of loathing, way he said it, giving the circumstances? But now that I gave it more thought . . . we never really had done anything too terrible to each other, did we? This was the first time I had ever been in that kind of occurance - WE had ever been in. God, that's probably why I feel so damned depressed.

Subconsciously I headed inside the regular mini-store, taking a detour away from my home, and passing by a midnight motorcycle that I did not acknowledge. The store was unoccupied except for the man at the register and for another, unviewable person. I walked to the register after I had given the store summarized observations. It was a plain store, with a dull, green background. The lights were bright in that cliche way you'd see in many horror movies, and it accented the green walls terribly. The shelves were stocked with food, chips, candy, and all of that kind of snacky stuff. At the register, behind the man, there were cartons of different brands of cigarettes assorted by various colors. The man at the register was half asleep, but he was still able to mumble a soft, "Can I help you?"

"Menthol; green," I muttered, shoving my hands into my pockets. Patiently I waited for the sleep man to get his act together, but I needed my cigarettes right now, damn it. But then a sharp tap was delivered to my shoulder. I turned around to have a small, communicational device shoved in front of my face.

[_Shouldn't you be at home now_?] I peeked above the PDA to catch sight of Celty, the Black Rider. My attention returned to the man setting my cigarette pack on the counter. He asked for 410 yen, and I dug the money out of my pocket and gave it to the man. I took my cigarettes before I glanced back at Celty.

"Where did you come from?" I asked. Celty tilted her head in what seemed to be confusion before she typed quickly on her PDA.

[_I was here the whole time! Didn't you notice my motorcycle standing outside_?] Her writing suggested that she sounded incredulous. I glanced through the store window and saw the motorcycle standing proud and tall. Half-heartedly I shrugged.

"I must've missed it," I grunted at her. "Anyway, what are you doing here, Celty? Shouldn't you be back with Shinra or something?" I blinked at the simple medical supplies carried in one of her arms. They were regular bandages and healling ointment. I raised an eyebrow. "And what's with that stuff you got there?"

She nodded her head towards the items she carried before typing again. [_It is the medical supplies Shinra asked me to get_.]

"For what reason?" I asked curiously, hesitantly. Practically, I already knew her resolute answer.

[_For Izaya-san. You abused him pretty badly, you know? As far as I know, Shinra told me he has a broken leg, a broken arm . . . some cracked ribs, and those black eyes of his. I never thought you had it in you to do something that drastic to him, even though you hate him, of course_.]

I sneered lazily, but it did not reach my eyes. "Does _everyone_ know that I practically beaten him to death in an alleyway, or what?"

Celty shook her head in disapproval, moving to the register counter to set her items down. The cashier nodded and mindlessly began to check Celty's merchandise out. Faintly, with slight amusement, I wondered how that man wasn't awed by the presence of the urban legend. I guess he was just that tired. [_Not everyone. I found Izaya trying to limp back to back to his apartment in Shinjuku. I brought him back to Shinra, and here I am, running an errand for them at two in the morning_.]

I blinked. Was it really that late?

[_Well, good bye Shizuo-kun. Please go home and do get some rest_.] Celty paid for her purchases after the man had checked her out, and she thanked him. She began to leave the store. Out of complete impulse I abruptly shot out and grabbed her wrist, something I regretted I did, but I couldn't back out now. She snapped back to me with a curious gleam bouncing off her helmet. I swallowed, and I could hear the blood rushing through my head, and I felt the fast pace beat of my heart. I felt my dry lips fumble for the words I struggled to find of which I so desperately needed to ask of her, but I couldn't. I just can't do it, I just-

"Let me see Izaya."

**This chapter. I just. I don't. I just don't like it! XD**

**Funny story, I wrote a cutesy, fluffy Shizaya fic demoting smoking and posted it on the 9th, a Thursday, late at night. I wanted to check the story's traffic the day after, but was bein' weird so I couldn't check it until like... 8pm-ish? So I was all pissed until I found out I got 161 views. In just one day. 161 views on like a 600+ worded fanfiction.**

**My initial reaction: "!"**

**... Heart~**

**I felt so happy! :) **

**Anyway, here are my responses to the reviewers for chapter 4! ^^**

**Luna's moon1100: I'm very glad you think so! :)**

**Sheynx: Simon is the wisest sushi lover. THE WISEST. The reason I used Simon to comfort Shizuo is because I see waaay too many fics who use Shinra to comfort Shizuo about Izaya-related problems! I mean, c'mon, give Simon some love, right? Right.**

**Thank you for reading, everyone, and please review! :3**

**~Starry Nightly**


	6. Stupid Brute!

**Izaya's POV**

Aah . . . Shizu-chan, when were you _ever_ not a barrel of endless pain and entertainment?

I limped through the sidewalks on one leg, but pain still shot through my spine like a gun whenever I landed on my right leg. I did not require my sight to know that the people around me were pitying me in some form by shaking their heads in sympathy, or with cold sneers adorned on their faces. In fact, I could almost hear the opposite comments in their heads.

'Seems like that Heiwajima-guy finally got him . . .'

'Whoa, is that dude okay? Maybe I should call for an ambulance . . .'

'Hey, it's Orihara Izaya! Prick finally got what he fucking deserves! . . .'

'Who is that man, and why does he look so bad? Maybe I should ask mommy-'

I pointedly ignored the lot of them. Orihara Izaya does not require anyone's pity, and humanity does not need to see me this way. I want to go back to Shinjuku and take care of my wounds there. I don't want my precious humans to view me so bruised, so beaten and abused, so . . .

. . . defeated.

Stupid Shizu-chan, why don't you just die already? I hate you, I hate you _so_ much. I hate you more than rotten fatty tuna. And suddenly I felt like laughing. I deeply desired to laugh at this whole stupid ordeal before I fainted with blood loss. So I laughed. I laughed so hard, my chest began to hurt much more, but I did not cave to the pain scarring me. Everyone watched me with peculiar dispositions on their faces, and they abandoned the area where I stood. I did not even notice I was coughing blood until I acknowledged a copper, metallic taste in my mouth. The laughter stopped. I stared at my hand somberly, as if all the world's joy drained simultaneously down the toilet. Flush.

I stood there before I grimaced and wiped the blood off on my shirt. I continued onwards to Shinjuku while, honestly, I was truly just aimlessly wandering around. My head hurts, my chest hurts, my arm hurts, and to what ever God, my leg hurts . . . I attempted to raise my left hand to my head, cringing when I had realized it was the arm in the most pain. I cradled the poor limb against my chest . . . not the smartest position for it either, but it was uncomfortable either way - limp or held. This time I tried to lift my right hand, gave a relieved sigh as it was not in any sort of pain, towards the wound on my head. I gently rolled my fingers over the wound. I was glad as it already began to scab over, but a lithe hiss still sprang from its prison of gritted teeth and curled lips.

It's so awfully difficult to see anything when all you could do was see the world with slitted eyes. I've bumped already into numerous people, heard their throats voice the beginnings of derisive protest, literally felt the remorse radiating from their guilty bodies, and lastly hear the shuffling of feet growing steadily fainter. Really, what a horrible day.

Treaking slowly into a halt, I thought rationally for a moment. I bet Namie would pick me up if I gave her a call. So I proceeded to dip my good hand into the non-existant fur-trimmed jacket to pull out the ever so important cellphone, with all my top clients on it, to speed-dial the most amazing secretary I ever had the pleasure of hiring. Oh, and my other currently uninjured hand dipped into the other pocket to caress my favorite pocket knife that totally sliced Shizu-chan into a bloody puddle. Oh, bonus, a meteor fell onto Shizu-chan and he died by suffocation from how heavy the stupid rock was unbaribly crushing his bones, lungs, and such. Then a great combustion came upon him and burnt him into a crisp!

. . . Haha~

A pout found its way onto my cut bottom lip. What did I ever do to Shizu-chan, besides cutting up his cigarette in two, today? How unfair! I began limping again and to my chagrin I bumped into something.

I say "something" because it felt like I walked into a brick wall. With fabric on it . . . ?

I backed up and saw a pearly white grin through my squinting eyes. Oh, hey, it's just Simon. Well, that actually explains a lot. In the only few seconds I could keep my eyes open, I saw Simon's elated smile disappear. The man began to speak in his native language.

"My guess is that Shizuo finally got you, right? Well, I suppose it was time he did something; in a way, you deserved it, Izaya."

** UGH! So sorry I haven't updated in such a long while! I want to flip all of the tables because of the update rate of this story! I'm so glad Valentines is out of the way. Done and done, sequel and original, and all! XD**

** Welp, now I can concentrate on this story more. And four day weekend, woo! So maybe a few updates can be expected. I'unno. Which reminds me, thank you to all of the readers and people who reviewed! :3**

** The special is going to be split in two, I guess, so there will definitely be an update for part 2 very soon.**

** Oh, but I do want to state that ALL REVIEWS ON THE MOST RECENT CHAPTER WILL BE RESPONSED TO. Just to clear the air, and all! :)**

**Welp, here they are!**

**Dullahan21: This is your first time reading a fic like this? :O Yay! I actually thought there were a lot of those kinds of fics on Shizaya out there. So... bonus for me? XD Thank you for reviewing. :)**

**.71192: That chapter made me want to punch something. I just wasn't so descriptive for it! D: And here is another chapter. :) Thank you for reviewing!**

**Demonic Flower: I'm glad you enjoy it! Thank you for reviewing! :3**

**Kurosendo: Then it gets tense! . . . after Izaya's special chapters of course. :) Thank you for reviewing!**

**Sheynx: Never a good idea at all. XD And more Simon-luv, yay! Thank you for reviewing!**

**blackkitty27: And it shall be interesting indeed! Thank you for reviewing!**

**With love, Starry Nightly**


End file.
